


He Who Dares

by Fix06



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Gen, Season/Series 02, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fix06/pseuds/Fix06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Mitchell is a criminal - a mugger, and a nasty piece of work. He threatens young women walking alone at night in the Glades and takes them for all they have. At least, that's how it usually goes. Tonight? Tonight Marcus is being hunted, and the vigilante is closing in. </p>
<p>Set during Season Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Dares

Okay, he admitted it; he'd made some mistakes in his life. As he tumbled, sprawling across the rooftop, Marcus Mitchell began to understand where it had all gone wrong. His face skipped across the ground, becoming slick with blood and the dampness of half-forgotten rain. His shin screamed at him, throbbing in pain from the knock against the fire escape. He hadn't stuck around to see what he'd hit in the moonlit alleyway. Deep down, he knew. So he'd just ran.  


And that's what he was doing again now, sprinting, ignoring the complaints from every muscle in his body as he fled his would-be attacker. Marcus understood that what he did was wrong, he wasn't an idiot. But this was Starling City. Hell, this was the Glades. No one got anywhere around here being the nice guy. So sure, occasionally he preyed on the odd wandering gal, taking the old shortcuts to get home quickly. He wasn't a rapist or anything. He stuck them up with a pen-knife, made a twenty or three, and off he went. It was harmless. A victimless crime! Except for the victims, but hey, they made their choice. They chose to walk home at night, alone. Through the freaking Glades! That kind of stupidity deserved to learn a lesson, and Marcus was an enthusiastic teacher.

The long rooftop he'd been pelting across suddenly provided him with a predicament. It dropped off, into a sheer wall, with a six-foot gap to the next roof just in front of him. He had no idea what to do, where to go. And then, the decision was made for him.

THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD

Oh Jesus wept, he was coming. He could hear the boots, slamming hard against the concrete, closing in. This wasn't Marcus' fault. He'd never hurt nobody. Not really. I mean, sure, there was Juarez that one time, but the kid was a lying little punk anyway. I mean, honestly, it was society that was to blame! Guy couldn't earn an honest living in this town anymore. Not since Merlyn and his association of rich asshats made craters of half the city's jobs. Marcus reached the edge of the roof and leapt, heart in his throat. The night air whipped past him, rattling his eardrums with a high whistle, and before Marcus even had time to look down he was sprawling again. 

THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD. 

He was still coming. Christ, he was _still_ coming for him. Marcus got up, not looking back, tears streaming down his face now as he forced himself through the agony. He had to keep going, had to get away. That hooded bastard had killed, damn it, and he was next. He was going to die, on a damn rooftop. Oh God, please don't let him die. Not like this. An incline, and a small leap over a wall, followed by a clothesline that he ducked under before running on. Panting, crying, Marcus knew only self-preservation now. 

THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD, SWIIIIIIISH, BAM, THUD-THUD, THUD-THUD.

How? How in the name of all that is holy was that possible?! Marcus has heard him, cool as anything, leap through the air and just keep going. Another jump now for Marcus, a fall of three feet or so. He didn't even stop to think. He just hit the new building with a crash, sliding across concrete once more on his chest, this time sending gravel skittering off of bare edges as he whimpered into the grime. 

THUD-THUD, SWIIIIIISH, THUD. 

This was it. That hooded bastard was behind him. He'd landed right behind him. Oh Jesus wept, this was it. Marcus rolled over, face bleeding, mouth swollen, and felt a boot press against his throat, holding him in place.

And it wasn't him. It wasn't the Arrow. Stood over him, clad in full-length black leather and matching mask, was a woman. A blonde lady, from what he could make out in the light, with an escrima stick in each hand. She held him firm as she caught her breath, steely gaze pressing him back as much as her foot.

"Forgive me, I'm new," she mused, with the cool disinterest of someone well aware they've won, "But I'm fairly sure it goes a little something like this: 

Marcus Mitchell... **You have failed this city**." 

And just like that, he was out cold.


End file.
